


Their Bark is Worse than Their Bite

by flynnXrathbone



Series: Brosca's Merry Band of Misfits [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alistair POV, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, F/M, TW past emotional abuse mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-12
Updated: 2015-02-12
Packaged: 2018-03-12 02:49:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3340802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flynnXrathbone/pseuds/flynnXrathbone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part 2 of an ongoing story. In the cellars of Redcliffe Castle, Alistair is hesitant to get his hands dirty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Their Bark is Worse than Their Bite

“You must be out of your Chantry-loving mind,” Brosca spat. “What did you think we’d be doing? Dancing the remigold?”

Alistair, red to the tips of his ears, shifted uncomfortably, still holding the door behind him shut against the aggressive thumps and snarls emanating from within. The three women of the party stared at him, their expressions ranging from bemusement to incredulous fury. “I’m no coward,” he protested. “You’ve all seen me slay darkspawn, not to mention a horde of undead just last night.” “Yet here you stand, unmanned by a pack of mangy hounds,” Morrigan sneered. “Most peculiar.” “They’re not—I’m not—“ Alistair began to retort angrily, then stopped with a sigh. “Brosca, how would you feel if someone tried to kill _your_ mabari?”

“You mean that dog we found 3 days ago? If he was possessed, I’d wield the dagger myself. It would be a mercy.” “Bad example. Did you have a pet as a child?” “Nothing but the flea-ridden nugs that gnawed our toes as we slept. Not _all_ of us were raised in an arl’s castle, _your grace_.”

“Ouch. I’ll take that as a no. Leliana?” The bard looked reflective. “In Orlais, the nobles were fond of training kestrels to hunt. I recall that one comte would dress his favorite in matching silks, with bows around its talons! It was very droll.” “Ooookay, not exactly what I had in mind. Morrigan, dare I even ask?” The apostate mage regarded him coldly. “I assure you that I never simpered over caged beasts. Flemeth would not have tolerated such nonsense. When living in the wilds, much as when battling a Blight, it is kill or be killed, a maxim you’d do well to remember.”

Alistair paused, his mind flooding with memories of the hours he’d spent in these very kennels. These mabari—he’d seen them born, gently cradled the tiny pups as their rough tongues lapped at his face, cavorted with them on the Redcliffe battlements, temporarily safe from the arlessa’s disdain, and slept beside them, cherishing their comforting warmth when not a soul in the castle would offer him a kind word. Until he’d joined the Grey Wardens, those had been some of the happiest moments of his life. “Please, Brosca. I’d try to convince you, but I don’t know how much longer the door will hold. Will you trust me?”

The dwarf grudgingly assented. “Tis the height of folly,” Morrigan snapped. “Be it on both of your heads if we fail.” “I think it is dear,” cooed Leliana. “What noble sentiments stir the pure heart!” Alistair groaned. “Brosca, for the love of Andraste give us a plan, before she composes an ode in my honor.” “As you wish, _my liege_. But you’re not going to like it.”

*************

His heart pounded wildly as he opened the door. Morrigan’s bees buzzed angrily past his shoulder, startling the snapping hounds. Taking advantage of the brief distraction, Alistair barreled to the far side of the room, Leliana’s dizzying song and the possessed mabari pack both following close at his heels. He prayed silently that Brosca was as good as her word while extending his shield arm to keep them at bay. Suddenly, she appeared to his right, momentarily stunning the alpha dog. Alistair dragged the beast’s dead weight into the nearest cage, marveling at the way that Brosca effortlessly disappeared again behind the magical swarm. Just as he locked the iron door, something slammed into his knees, knocking him flat on his back. Powerful jaws clamped his leg, and he howled in pain. Another dog dove for his throat. Oh Maker, he didn’t want to die this way. He could feel its hot breath on his exposed skin… and without warning, the mabari collapsed in a senseless heap on his chest. The other hound yelped and released him, which Alistair guessed was due to Brosca’s reinforced boots connecting with a sensitive target. Poor pup.

Finally, when all four mabari were safely caged, Alistair relaxed, wiping sweat and blood from his brow. “What did I tell you?” he crowed. “Sweetest pups you’ll ever meet.” Leliana stared at him. “Alistair, your leg…” Brosca tore a bandage strip with her teeth and expertly wrapped the gaping wound on his calf. “You noble idiot.” Morrigan merely snorted and rolled her eyes.


End file.
